Hello everyone,
Like so many who visit this group, I've been lurking for a few weeks
and reading a lot of the older posts.  But I thought I'd introduce
myself, tell my story and hopefully gain some wisdom from the more
experienced folks.

I am a 51-year-old RN, mother of two teenage boys and wife of a nice
guy.  My 84-year-old MIL has been living with my husband and I and our
two sons for the past 12 years.  She was healthy and robust and 'up'
for anything.  Four years ago she was diagnosed with AD.  Of course in
retrospect, we can see that she was having symptoms for a couple years
prior to that.  She was forgetful-but not alarmingly so.  A couple
times, she locked her keys and/or purse in the car or left the car
running with the doors wide open while she went shopping.  She became
increasingly unsure of herself and seemed to worry over the smallest
things.  She once turned the gas burners on the stove 'on' but forgot
to light them.  She'd lost her sense of smell so she had no idea the
gas was pouring into our house.

Then she began to have what appeared to be panic attacks.  She was
even hospitalized for an episode and had a comprehensive
cardiovascular and neurological workup-which was normal.  But the
nurses told us they thought she had early dementia.

Things got worse.  She'd get lost in the grocery store.  To our
dismay, she just stopped cooking-cold turkey-no more coming home to a
nice meal lovingly prepared by grandma!  She would page my husband and
I at work multiple times a day-anxious and fearful and crying "I don't
know what's wrong with me!"  Fortunately, she also became afraid to
drive.  For a short-time (before we truly realized what was wrong) we
encouraged her to 'get back on the horse' but the day she had my boys
in the car and started it with the gas pedal fully depressed (but
luckily NOT in gear) was the day we agreed-no more driving.

She started on Reminyl and klonazepam for the anxiety and Zoloft for
depression.  Things really didn't get worse-but they didn't really
improve either.  By the spring, it became really obvious that I needed
to quit work to stay home with her.   The pros (able to stay home with
my kids; able to care for grandma) outweighed the cons (less income)
and I stopped working.  After about a year, the doctor added Namenda
to the mix and I must say that the effects were impressive.  It seemed
like grandma gained about a years worth of abilities-she even started
balancing her checkbook again!

So here we are four years later.  The effectiveness of the Reminyl and
Namenda seem to have worn off.  She can't speak in complete sentences-
it seems that she can remember the words to start the sentence but
can't grasp the words to finish the thought. Sometimes what comes out
is pure garble.  You can see the blank/lost look in her eyes pretty
often as she can't comprehend even simple stuff.  She is full of worry
and anxiety.  She is either sleeping or is restless.  Her short-term
memory is pretty non-existent.  She can prepare and eat her own
breakfast cereal but beyond that (if we let her) she'd subsist on
sweets, tea and coke for the rest of the day.  She reads her junk mail
out-loud to me.  I think she can read the words but can't understand
the meaning.  She is obsessed with her bowels.  She is lonely, bored,
depressed and just plain lost.  God knows we've tried every right and
wrong approach to help her--ideas of things to do, pep talks and stern
lectures.  We've drug this horse to many a water trough but she just
won't drink!

I've looked at the list of  "101 things to do" and just get
discouraged.  And this is where I'm going to sound like an insensitive
jerk-most of these things require someone to initiate and do them with
her.  We do many of these things-but not to the degree that would fill
her day.  I run a small computer programming business from my home.  I
homeschool my sons.  And I am truly there for grandma-as much as I can
be and still get my work done and retain my sanity.  But I'm not able
to give her what she seems to thrive on-someone to mindlessly chat
with or vicariously participate in whatever someone else is doing.  I
hate it when I 'uh huh' her millionth telling me something.  I have
learned to patiently and repeatedly answer the same questions as if I
were answering for the very first time---but I fear and feel like I
sound like an automaton.  I hate the difficult balance of guiding her
as if she were a child but trying to do so in an adult manner.  To
complete this picture, let me copy a portion of the email I sent my
husband earlier today (btw the 'bowel list' was my not-so swift idea
of daily things to do to make your bowels move)....

Having your sister visit your mom this weekend made me temporarily
forget how much her AD has really progressed.  But!  This morning
she's been fretting and worrying over and over and over about 1) the
bowel list and 2) the big basket of Mother's Day flowers from <her
daughter>.  Ok--so I've created a monster with the bowel list.  She's
obsessed with it.  But so far, her damn bowels have moved daily so for
now I'll happily trade her one obsession for another.

Now about the flowers.  She is freaked because 'they are so big' and
'they hang down' and 'I don't know what to do'.  She wants to put them
in a vase.  I tell her "no, lets keep them in the pretty basket."  She
still frets.  So I go downstairs with her and (with her at my side and
watching and listening as I describe what I'm doing), I water them a
bit with the sink sprayer.  Then I say "We need to leave them sitting
in the sink until the water drains through, then we can put them on
your dining room table".  Then I go back upstairs--my mistake.

About 15 minutes later she calls from the bottom of the stairs
"Somebody needs to help me because I don't know what to do!"  She has
a nice decorative ceramic pitcher in her hand (something about it kind
of looks funny but I ignore that).  Zane says "she's been watering the
plant for the past 10 minutes."  I tell her that I'll take care of the
plant for her and that it doesn't need any more water.  She comes
upstairs, obsesses a bit over the bowel list.  I tell her that I will
make her lunch, but first I go downstairs.  I find the basket of
flowers still in the sink (good) and the ceramic pitcher is sitting on
the counter next to it.  I notice again that it looks funny and take a
closer look.  It is about a third full of water--and about half full
of dirt and moss!!  I look in the basket and see where she's scooped a
good portion of the dirt out (exposing the roots).  I run upstairs to
fix the lunch (because she's asking about what juice to drink and
reading the bowel list to me again.).  After fixing her lunch I sneak
back downstairs and replace the dirt and moss as best I can.  I'll
still need to clean up the mess.  Sigh.

Okay, I can hear the cries of 'Daycare! Daycare!' already.   But,
sometimes she doesn't seem so bad-still kind of mild AD.  At those
times I think Daycare would be demeaning to her.  Other times
(admittedly, everyday), I think she has more than one foot in the
'moderate' AD camp.  I still fear that Daycare would be demeaning to
her.  And yes, getting her to go would be a battle royal.

Well this introduction has turned out to be waaay longer than I
intended.  If you've read to the end-thanks!  I'll be a good listener
now.....
diane